Sometimes when I think of how [and why, why?] I grew to legitimately enjoy Motörhead, my head hurts.

They’re obviously the best guilty pleasure on the planet. Their lyrics, their outfits, their logo, their album covers, their facial hair. I love how much effort they have clearly put into constructing themselves as being tough as fuck [and how they don’t need to try; it obviously comes so naturally]. I love the fact that Lemmy Kilmister has looked exactly same for the past 35 years. He also claims to have slept with twelve hundred women. Twelve hundred. I sincerely believe him.

My goal in life is to brainwash at least one of my friends into enjoying this band. It’s a pretty hopeless mission, but I will persevere.